


That Day (What a Marvelous Mess)

by poisontaster



Series: Dying of the Lightverse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blow Jobs, Future Fic, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-01
Updated: 2006-11-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 05:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5322374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean have been through so much already...surely they can handle the zombie apocalypse, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Day (What a Marvelous Mess)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adelheide](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=adelheide).



> This is the first of a series of zombie apocalypse fics that take place as an AU of my own series, [Lightverse](http://archiveofourown.org/series/339889). It is definitely AU, though. This is not connected to the "real" Lightverse, other than sharing characters, namely, Dean's kids.

They have to abandon the Impala at the roadblocks on the Bay Bridge.

Even if they could have moved the concrete blocks—and Dean thinks the seven of them probably could have managed—the road beyond is a hopeless snarl of abandoned cars and there's just no way they're going to make it any way except on foot.

There are some shamblers wandering aimlessly around and more sure to follow, but Dean can't help but stand there and look at her gleaming in the last of the westering California sunshine, long after the others have stripped her of every useful, portable thing.

His eyes feel hot and tired and his chest aches, more convinced by this than anything that it really _is_ the end of the world.

Miria comes and stands next to him, puts her small, sweating hand in his. He feels Sam looking at him, worried and impatient to go, but he doesn't say anything, waiting for Dean to get his shit together and go. And Dean just keeps staring at the Impala.

Finally, Miria tugs on his fingers and says gently, "C'mon, Dad," and then he breathes and he goes.

< O >

They give the kids the handguns. Less kick than the rifles and shotguns and really, he hopes they—him, Sam and Lynette La Fay—will be able to pick off anything before it gets close enough for the kids to need to throw a shot in it. He knows it's not true—those lickers, especially, move fast and crabwise—but it's one of the very fragile bolts holding his brain together and he's not fucking with it. The last thing any of them needs is for him to turn into a hysterical mess and he suspects if he starts screaming, he might not be able to stop.

"You've done this before," he says to the twins, crouching down at their eye-level. "Remember? In the back yard at home?"

"Yeah, but that was just targets," Evan says in an agonized whisper. "These… These are _people_."

"No, they're not," Dean says firmly. "Not anymore. They're just like all those things I told you about hunting. And what do we do with them?"

"Kill them," Evan says reluctantly.

Kait seems withdrawn and like she's not listening, but suddenly her gun hand comes up and she fires, a sharp report that jerks her small body and makes even Dean jump. He whips his own rifle up in time to see the zombie go tumbling off the rampart. "Ow," Kait says mildly, holding her wrist.

< O >

"Fucking California," Lynette says savagely and tiredly. She wipes an arm across her forehead. It leaves streaks of soot and gore across her skin, but Dean thinks she's past caring what she looks like. "We couldn't have been in fucking Detroit, where there's a fucking gun shop on every third fucking corner?" Her lip pulls back from her sharp teeth. "Fucking pacifists."

"Hey. There." Sam lifts his arm to point. Lynette's son Tab clings to Sam's back like an overgrown spider monkey.

Dean squints. "That's not a gun shop."

"No, it's a diner," Sam agrees. "But I'm starving and I bet you are too and I think the kids could use a break, huh?"

Dean looks at Miria, Kait and Evan, trying to not see them through a father's eyes but a soldier's, assessing strength, endurance, fortitude. But the truth is that he can't separate it. He sees his daughters and son, way too exhausted and shell-shocked from the day's horrors. They're just little kids. "Yeah," he says. He wonders if their Dad ever felt like this. "I could stand a bite. Let's stop."

< O >

After all the food is cooked, they go upstairs to eat, barricading themselves in. It's just stupid to go wandering around in the dark and the kids have had it. There's an open air café up there and he and Sam lean on the fake bamboo rail and look out over the street. There's smoke off to the south, thick and rolling but still too distant to worry about.

"What do you think?" Sam asks, looking at him sidelong.

"I think we're fucked," Dean answers with a short, unfunny laugh. He scrapes a hand through his hair. It's dirty and sweaty and it itches and he knows there's zero chance he's going to get a shower.

"Okay," Sam says evenly. "How do we get unfucked? Because I'm not ready to give up yet, Dean. And I'm not ready to give up on those kids."

"Well, _no_ ," Dean says, stung Sam would even accuse him of it. "Don't be an ass, Sam."

"Don't be _absent_ , Dean."

Dean opens his mouth and finds out his voice is stuck crosswise somewhere between his navel and his throat, unmoving, _burning_. He turns and Sam grabs onto him, holding him up while he gasps and chokes, making noises that sound a lot like sobs.

< O >

"Can you see them?" Sam's mouth mutters against his ear, oddly rich.

Dean cranes his head backwards until he can see the gold of the tea light candles, a pseudo protective circle around the puppy pile of children in its center. Lynette is a straight line of shadow, as is the shotgun in her hands. "Yes."

"Good." Sam goes to his knees in one lithe swoop. The rattle of Dean's belt seems unnaturally loud.

"Sam," he grunts, head slamming back against the wall. He smells smoke; he smells his own sweat and Sam's. He smells the clotted stink of the walking dead. Under it all, he smells the faint bite of salt, either the _real_ circle they poured out or possibly even the Bay itself.

"Shh." Sam's fingers trace across Dean's lips; his mouth opens to take Dean deep. Dean strangles on his own stifled, swallowed cry, fingernails gouging scars from the plaster. Sam hums thoughtfully, shifts his weight on his knees and then tips his head, sucking Dean into the back of his throat. Dean moans again, thick and trembling. Sam pushes his hand into Dean's mouth, trapping his tongue flat.

The fingers of Sam's other hand pry Dean's away from the wall and twine through, interlocking flesh and bone.

Dean closes his eyes and bites down.

< O >

"We should head for the industrial sector," Dean says finally. He's spent, but he keeps rubbing his softened cock in Sam's ass with gentle rocks of his hips, enjoying the soft, pleased whimpers Sam makes with each thrust.

"Hmm?" Sam brings his forearm in to pillow his face on it. His eyes are closed.

"Lack of windows. Better defensibility. Better likelihood of finding shit to fortify it with, make weapons. The shamblers don't seem to like fire much."

"Mmmm," Sam agrees. Dean thinks he might actually be asleep. He's got that knack, talking back.

"We'll be okay," Dean tells him, nosing into Sam's hair with his eyes closed. "All of us. We'll figure it out."

"Mmmm," Sam says again, hips rolling up once, slowly.

Dean sighs and rolls off sideways. He keeps touching Sam though, tracing sigils in sweat. He wishes he believed they worked. "We should go back. I don't want to leave the kids too long."

"Mmm-hmm." Sam stretches once, languorous, like a big cat, sated on catnip and starts to sit up. Dean wipes himself best he can with his boxers and then snags his jeans. When he's crouching, ready to get up, Sam grabs his wrist, eyes glinting in the quasi-dark. Dean wonders how long the electricity to run the street lights will last. "There is one silver lining to all of this," Sam says.

"Oh yeah?" Dean asks. "What's that?"

"All of this…eventually it'll settle down. Find equilibrium. All we have to do is wait it out. Survive. It's the end of everything. We can start over, if we want."

Dean slings one arm around Sam's naked shoulders, pulling his brother in so Sam's face is buried in the crook of his arm and Dean's face is hidden by the thick mass of Sam's hair. Sam's right arm comes up to grip the back of Dean's neck, tight and insistent and sure. They hang on.

They hang on.


End file.
